7 Deadly Virtues
by Novacaine Child
Summary: Vince wants everything and everyone at once. Howard does his best to teach Vince that there are certain things we should try to be, and then things we should aspire to avoid. A multichapter based on the 7 sins/virtues. Rating will go up.
1. PRIDE

**My first Multichapter Boosh Fic! Oneshots are sweet and I DO enjoy the Variety Pack! But this idea came to me and I couldn't let it go. This story is based around Vince, Howard, and Vince's mysterious new boyfriend, Ananias. There will be slash. There will be angst. There will be fluff. There will be... reviews? :)**

**Chapter: Pride. No warnings really, except for language, but rating will go up. Vince gets ready for his date with Angel, and Howard berates him as he flirts with himself. Really a sort of introduction, I guess.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Mighty Boosh or any related characters. I own 1 calander, 2 tickets from the live show, 3 folders in my PC devoted to Boosh Pics (worrying), 4 badges, and 5 DVDs. No more, no less. Perhaps one day I will somehow obtain the characters, at which point I will force them at gunpoint to act out every smutty fic I have written. Until then, use your imaginations. ;)**

PRIDE

Howard sat stiffly in the front room of the flat he shared with Vince, his arms folded tightly and his mouth a thin line of misery. It was half past seven, the clock was dutifully telling him. Almost time.

"Angel" would be there at eight.

Vince flew suddenly into the room. He glanced quickly up at the clock and squawked, then hurled himself out again and up the stairs. Howard watched his every move silently, his heart sinking in his chest. From his station at the kitchen table, he could now hear the muted sound of Vince hopping around the floor, and several, almost rhythmic muffled thumps. Presumably, he was pulling on boots, then discarding them. Howard sighed, and stood. After a moment of hesitation, he trudged up the stairs.

His suspicions had been correct. Various shoes and boots littered the floor, and Vince was sitting on his bed, his tongue stuck out in concentration as he laced knee-high white boots over his neon pink skinny jeans.

"Do you really need to be so frantic?" Howard complained. "You'll break something, yeah?"

"I won't," Vince answered vaguely, trying a neon-green bow. His answer sounded distant. Howard observed that Vince wasn't particularly engaged in his plea.

"Seriously, Vince."

"Whatever, Howard! Did you just come up to be a ballbag or what?"

Howard looked at his feet. He'd only wanted to communicate, but his feelings towards Vince at that moment seemed to have gotten in the way.

"No."

"Well then, what d'you want?"

Howard tried to formulate an answer. It was difficult, because he would be the last person to know what he wanted. He opened his mouth. Shut it again. Vince looked up at him and quirked an eyebrow, then lost interest and started unpicking the knot he'd just tied. Suddenly Howard was angry. The sight of Vince, ripping off his freshly laced white boots and picking up a new pair was unexpectedly, frighteningly infuriating.

"Can't you just decide on one fucking pair, and leave 'em on?"

Vince looked up again, surprise blurring his features.

"What?"

"Just pick some."

Vince took off the boots he had just slipped on, and stood up.

"Howard, what's the matter with you?"

"Nothing," Howard muttered. He turned away.

"Is it because I'm going out?" Vince asked tenderly. "'Cause you know I can't take you with me tonight. But maybe next time, eh?"

"It's not that," Howard murmured, embarrassed by Vince's obvious pity.

"What, then?"

"I just… I don't know. I don't like Ananias." The words sidled out of his mouth before Howard could stop them. He flushed.

"Why? He's nice. Howard, that's well racist."

"It's not because he's Israeli, Vince. You know I'm not a racist."

"Well, what is it then? 'Cause he's always nice to you."

"Mm… I don't know. I just don't trust him."

"Well that's stupid. Everyone trusts angel. He's lovely. And I really like him. You could at least pretend to be happy for me."

Vince seized a pair of heels suddenly and yanked them on. Howard for a moment suspected that he'd upset his friend, then got a grip and realised that Vince had probably recognised that time was ticking away and that his date would soon be arriving to pick him up. Vince darted to the mirror and flicked his fringe about a little, then squeezed a generous helping of root boost onto his hand and began to work it through his already full hair.

"Why do you call him that?" Howard suddenly asked.

"What? Angel?" Vince replied, slicking a fresh layer of lip-gloss over his sparkling pink mouth.

"Yeah," Howard confirmed, sounding irritable. "It sounds stupid."

"Well. It's hard to pronounce Ananias sometimes. Especially when you're pissed, and we usually are. I just call him that 'cause it's easier. And quite fitting." Vince smiled at his reflection and practiced his cheeky wink.

"Well, I don't think it's fitting. Stop flirting with yourself, Vince."

"What's not to flirt with? I'm looking great," Vince laughed. He blew a kiss at his reflection, then shrieked and scrabbled for his gloss again when his fingertip smeared a corner of his lip.

"Maybe so," Howard acknowledged, looking at Vince's beautiful figure, "But you're so vain! Doesn't your boyfriend mind?"

"No, he encourages me," Vince giggled, peering at himself in the mirror. "He says that I should show it off."

"Well." Howard said, unable to muster the energy to point out that Vince's ego didn't need feeding, and that "Angel's" encouragement was probably damaging.

"What d'you reckon?" Vince asked self-assuredly, turning from the mirror and pouting at Howard, his hips slung slinkily to the side, hands trailing down his chest approvingly.

"You look like an electro poof."

"I am an electro poof," Vince pointed out, purring at his reflection. "A fuckin' sexy one, actually."

Howard rolled his eyes irritably as Vince contorted his body and looked up at himself under his eyelashes. "I almost just snogged myself," he laughed.

"Pride comes before a fall, Vince," Howard sniffed. Vince brushed his comment away and winked at himself one last time, before the doorbell rang.

"He's here!" Vince shrieked.

Howard sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. "Vince, d'you know what?"

"What?" Vince questioned, already half way out of the room.

"I don't think it's very nice the way you do that…" Howard almost whispered.

"Do what?"

"Well y'know," he muttered. "What with my feelings towards you and whatever. You could be a bit more… sensitive."

Vince looked at him pityingly for a moment. "It's not my fault you fancy me Howard. I mean, everyone does at some point, I'm pretty sexy. But I can't help that, an' I'm gonna act however I want to. You're just gonna have to deal with it."

"Right," Howard sighed, as Vince ran down the stairs and into the arms of his Angel.

**Reviews are loved, please please? And just as an extra note, my penname recently changed from BeebeeLovett.. But it's still me! xx**


	2. ENVY

**Hey there, motherlickers! Sorry the next installment took sooooo long, but there's a lot happening. I hope you enjoy this one, and please please take the time to review... It really makes me happy and inspires to write faaaasterrrrr...**

**This Chapter: Howard experiances some unpleasant feelings around Vince's and Ananias' relationship, and a plan of sorts is formed. The next chapter should be round about where it all kicks off, and the sooner I get reviews, the sooner I'll be in the mood to write the inevitable chapter marked "Lust"...**

**Warnings: A little swearing, and a mention of adult themes, but nothing you can't handle if you're above aged... 12?**

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Mighty Boosh or any related characters. It's an outrage.**

ENVY

Howard winced as he heard the front door slam downstairs, knowing from experience that they would kiss as soon as it closed. They always did. Howard supposed that he should appreciate the gesture that Vince offered when he ensured the door was firmly closed before he allowed Ananias to kiss him, but it didn't help much when the walls were so thin that he could still hear Vince's excited giggle swiftly muffled by lips that were not his own, and soft moans of pleasure tumbling from Vince's glossy pout as his lover pushed him against the door and teasingly pushed boundaries that Howard could never get near. And sure enough, as Howard willed the sound of his own blood pumping in his ears to fall silent, he reluctantly acknowledged that the sounds he could hear, even from a whole floor up, were soft and plosive and deliberate; the sound of eager lips, tongues winding and exploring. He squeezed his eyes closed and willed them to leave; a split second later he prayed that they never would.

His change in position, from standing to sitting, coincided with the distant roar of a powerful engine. The low rumble of the MR2 belonging to Ananias almost made Howard shriek out loud. He had everything, and it wasn't fucking fair. Slowly, miserably, Howard looked around Vince's room, taking in all the subtle signs of "Angel" that had been brought not only into his life, but also into his flat. His flat! Scattered on Vince's unusually neat bed (Howard flinched, trying not to image the connotations this may have) were many small fluffy bears, of every colour and shape imaginable. Beanie babies. Howard hated these gifts. On the nightstand next to Vince's bed was a small photograph in an inflatable blue frame. Vince's head lay on Ananias' shoulder, his eyes content and flirty. Ananias stood tall and strong, his tanned skin positively glowing, his arm around Vince's shoulder, pulling the littler man closer.

Howard turned away as he felt molten rage and jealousy lap against the walls of his stomach. He hated that man. Not just for being a slick, glib fucker, but for taking so much of Vince's time away from him. Howard had learned, a long time ago, that Vince would never be his. They just weren't compatible. Vince thought he was uncool, undesirable, and that he'd be damaging to his street credibility. And these weren't just assumptions either, they were facts that Vince had confirmed after Howard had confessed his feelings. He'd proclaimed that he was flattered. That he wished things could be different and that he didn't wanna hurt Howard. But that he just wasn't good enough. And since that day, ever since the subject of Howard's affections had been broached, Vince shrugged it off with a vague "everyone loves me, don't worry about it" attitude. Howard doubted that Vince had ever seriously considered what it felt like to be on the giving end of unrequited love. But then again, perhaps he didn't know how. Love wasn't a concept that Vince seemed to fully grasp. Love to him was how he felt about his "hottest-you-can-get" Nikki Clarke hair straighteners.

And now, possibly, Ananias.

Ananias had been on the scene for much longer than Howard would have preferred. He and Vince had met at a club one night, and Vince had become smitten with "Angel" after the man spent the night plying him with Flirtinis, and later, accomplished fucks. Four months down the line, they were still going on "dates". Howard was vaguely grateful that they weren't at the "snuggling-on-the-living-room-sofa-watching-a-sappy-movie" stage; he didn't think he could handle having to sit rigidly in an armchair, listening to Ananias whispering to Vince with a sultry expression and Vince's tempted giggles, to a backing track of Kate Winslet telling Leonardo DiCaprio that she would never let go. But then again, the pain of watching Vince get into brand new underwear and outfits, crimping his hair and slicking on lip-gloss for the sake of another date with "Angel" was excruciating. Howard didn't know if it was worse to witness Vince going to so much trouble over someone who wasn't him, than to witness him snuggled up on the couch every night, locking lips with his charming Israeli lover.

Howard never denied that he was jealous. Jealousy was an emotion that came to him as naturally as hatred whenever "Angel" was around. He despised how easy it was for Ananias to touch Vince, to kiss him, to make him beam that beautiful beam that stretched almost from ear to ear.

Howard groaned to himself, biting down on his lip. What the fuck had happened to him? He had gotten so caught up in his love for Vince that it had seemed impossible that Vince could ever want someone besides him. And he knew that logically, Vince wasn't programmed to love him just because Howard loved Vince, but his heart insistently murmured something else, something constant which filled his head and yanked at his soul.

_He shouldn't be with Ananias. He belongs with you._

Howard jumped to his feet. He had come to a decision. He was going to go out, to the club that he knew they always went to (Violet Pulse, if he wasn't mistaken, he'd heard nothing but accounts of dates with Angel from Vince in the last few months), and he was going to watch them. He didn't know exactly what he thought he would accomplish from doing this, but he was too wound up, too miserable, too fucking _something _to just sit at home and pretend he still gave a damn about Jurgen Haabermaaster documentaries and Howling Jimmy Jefferson jazz records.

Suddenly full of adrenaline, he strode into his bedroom. Briefly, he worried that his blue and yellow Hawaiian shirt was still in the washing machine, and that he only had his profound muffin cords available. The profound muffin cords that always went with the blue and yellow Hawaiian shirt. Seconds later, he realised that actually, he didn't give a damn. He'd been confusing his thoughts now with the thoughts he had five months ago, before he had to worry about someone else. Sure, his mind had been constantly on Vince for the last half a year, but he'd still cared about looking good then.

If only for Vince.

Howard shook his head and pulled on the clean cords, making a mental note to try to get his life into some kind of order and clean up the mess in his bedroom, wash all of the offensively smelly clothes, still damp from the clinging residue of Jazzercise. Numbly, he pulled a desolate umber shirt from somewhere near the top of the washing pile, and sniffed it. It was often worn and it reeked strongly of the aftershave that Howard had doused it in last time he'd needed clothes, but Howard's senses were so diminished that he didn't even register the tangy sweetness. He shrugged the shirt on and fumbled with the buttons until it hung on his scrawny shoulders. The size of the shirt reminded him how robust he used to be. Now his limbs were growing scraggy, and he felt as though he was nothing more than a ghost of himself.

It hurt that Vince had never noticed, never commented.

He stumbled down the stairs and pulled on his defiant chocolate loafers, before letting himself out of the flat and into the harsh night air. He felt the sting of it against his cheek as he strode to the bus stop, and he shuddered a little; not in cold, but in trepidation. Jealous. Yes, he was jealous, and he was going to new lengths to demonstrate tonight. But in light of the circumstances, in light of the fact that a man who named himself _"Angel"_ was probably pressing his tongue to Vince's right now, he felt that his envy for once was entirely justified.

**Hope you enjoyed it, sorry for the slowness... it isn't sloth, I promise! Next chapter up soon, and the story will kick off... The more reviews I get, the longer I'll make the slash last. :) R&R, fuzzy little man-peaches!**


	3. GLUTTONY

**Hi there, Booshies and Booshettes. It's been forever, I know, sorry. I totally forgot about the site for a while, pretty much when I started college… But I got a lot of free time on my hands now, so hopefully much more soon. I've decided to keep the chapters of this story short… There'll be around 14 and I'm less likely to lose motivation this way. Hope you enjoy!**

**Gluttony: Vince is a drinker anyway, but when something pisses him off…**

**Warnings: Probably some language, maybe adult themes… You know the drill.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Mighty Boosh or any related characters. I own Ananias ("Angel") but that's all. I'd be willing to trade, if anyone's got Vince and wants to swap.**

GLUTTONY

The club- Violet Pulse- was even worse than Howard could have expected, in his wildest dreams. There was colour and noise everywhere, and the name of the club seemed particularly apt to him; the baselines hammering from the speakers seemed to pulse right through his chest. He sat uncomfortably atop a high barstool which spun when he shifted on the sleek but uncomfortable chrome, clutching a glass of scotch and gulping it back whenever Vince came into view.

He and Angel were dancing dirtily on the floor, Vince shaking his arse invitingly in front of his leering boyfriend's leather clad crotch. Ananias' hands were draped over Vince's hips and his body pressed close. The level of intimacy (if such indecency could be called that) was dumbfounding to Howard, and he could not understand how two people could be comfortable getting so close to one another in public, dripping sweat and writhing as though doing something obscene. He even thought he saw Angel put a hand in Vince's meticulously straightened hair, but that could have been a trick of the strobe lighting.

Every now and then, Ananias retreated to the bar to get a drink for each of them. Vince always accepted his with a cheeky grin, pulling umbrellas out of the fancy cocktails and sticking them into his hair, to the delight of his boyfriend. He also sealed his thanks with a kiss that involved a lot of inappropriate touching and a positively pornographic amount of tongue. For God's sake, the scantily clad onlookers were cheering them on.

It went almost without saying that Howard was the only man over the ages of 25 present. He was hot and uncomfortable in his chunky cord trousers and loose but still robust Hawaiian shirt. He felt as though he stuck out like a sore thumb, and that at any moment Vince would peer through the crowds and see him there, gawping resentfully. But so far, he had gone mostly ignored, except for a few contemptuous glances thrown his was by women. Indeed, he had listened bravely to a conversation, barely whispered, between the two women at the bar next to him of which he was the subject. Apparently one had offered the other free drinks all night if they would "give him a quick pull". She insisted to the pretty blond that it would make his night, but she had shaken her head resolutely and giggled. Howard was wounded, but glad. It would not have made his night, and he didn't want to lose sight of the man in the neon pink skinnies, grinding on the dance floor.

But wait, something new was occurring. It looked as though Ananias was angry. Howard watched with a mixture of dread and glee as Vince accepted drinks from the girls around him. It hadn't been an issue before, evidently. Vince was no lightweight and free drink were free drinks in Angel's mind. It took a long while and a lot of money to get Vince pissed without the female population of Camden's offerings. But when he was tanked up enough to give his usual thanks for free drinks, a dirty kiss on the mouth and a quick copped feel, it didn't go down well with his boyfriend. Howard sided with Angel on this one and thought his anger was justified, despite Vince's claims (probably true, but it was the principle) of it being "just a bit of fun". And now, Vince was making out with the blonde who had rejected him earlier and Ananias was- yes!- storming out of the club.

Howard watched, slightly amused, as Vince pulled his mouth from the girl's long enough to notice that his lover had stomped off into the night. He sighed visibly, pulled his arms away from the girl's arse, and dashed outside. Howard saw him through the purple-tinted windows, yelling Angel's name and some sort of misplaced reassurance. Apparently the boy had stopped just out of view, and had called Vince a few choice names, because Howard saw Vince's face darken. His own face lit up with glee as he watched Vince respond with the classic one finger salute. The younger man then flounced back into the club, and Howard saw him mouth the words "I need a fucking drink".

Immediately, a gaggle of fawning girls were shepherding him over to the bar and sitting him down. Howard quickly slid away in case he was spotted here, spying on Vince, but there was no real need. Vince was so wrapped up in his own imagined mistreatment that he noticed only the free Flirtinis that every girl in the place was thrusting under his nose. Howard watched for maybe an hour as Vince drank solidly, then slunk home to wait for the moment when Vince would inevitably crash through the front door and Howard would spend a precious few moments holding him as he led him to his bed. He knew, from experience, that Vince was a glutton when it came to Flirtinis at the best of times; tonight, he would be lucky not to do lasting damage to his heroic liver. Sighing, Howard left.

**There we go. Not sure if gluttony can be applied to drinking but it's all I got so I'm rolling with it. As always, please review. It'll take you no time and I'll be stupidly thrilled and more inspired to write. Loves! x**


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